Mikey: the Lifegiver, The Heart And The Light
by BrightLotusMoon
Summary: What does it mean to be the heart of the team? What would happen if that heart cracked under strain? What would happen if the light of the team became consumed by nothingness? What does it mean to be powerful, brave, and strong enough to shine through the worst darkness when your soul has broken?


"When you're lost in those woods, it sometimes takes you a while to realize that you are lost. For the longest time, you can convince yourself that you've just wandered off the path, that you'll find your way back to the trailhead any moment now. Then night falls again and again, and you still have no idea where you are, and it's time to admit that you have bewildered yourself so far off the path that you don't even know from which direction the sun rises anymore."  
― Elizabeth Gilbert

"The lotus is the most beautiful flower, whose petals open one by one. But it will only grow in the mud. In order to grow and gain wisdom, first you must have the mud - the obstacles of life and its suffering. ... The mud speaks of the common ground that humans share, no matter what our stations in life. ... Whether we have it all or we have nothing, we are all faced with the same obstacles: sadness, loss, illness, dying and death. If we are to strive as human beings to gain more wisdom, more kindness and more compassion, we must have the intention to grow as a lotus and open each petal one by one. "  
― Goldie Hawn

"At heart, I have always been a coper, I've mostly been able to walk around with my wounds safely hidden, and I've always stored up my deep depressive episodes for the weeks off when there was time to have an abbreviated version of a complete breakdown. But in the end, I'd be able to get up and on with it, could always do what little must be done to scratch by."

― Elizabeth Wurtzel, Prozac Nation

* * *

Part One: Mikey, The Lifegiver

Mikey is oxygen. Oxygen: the right amount lets you live and by extent do all the best things. Too much and you are smothered, you are overloaded, you beg it to stop. Too little and you're choking, gasping, dying, suddenly wishing you had lived just a little more. That's Mikey.

Raph is fire. Mikey fuels him. Mikey soothes him. It's really hard to have one without the other. Raph will consume Mikey's overload. Mikey will absorb Raph's fury in a sweeping embrace. They will collapse in a tangle of snapping and growling and laughter. Mikey's powerful insight into Raph's emotions maintain stability and health.

Don is earth. He is steady and waiting, quietly absorbed in his work until Mikey reminds him of the need for chemical fuel and how the air whispering through the trees can make the world dance. Mikey already knows his brother's brain because he is the other side of the coin. Their minds blend well, between logical and creative.

Leo is water. He is steady and swift, rushing down a well worn path or creating new paths to flood, whatever it takes. Mikey pulls him back and reminds him not to drown himself in his burden of keeping the clan safe. Sometimes the brook is heard laughing as the wind ripples across. Mikey keeps him floating and steady because he knows just what his biggest bro needs to relax.

Splinter knows that keeping Michelangelo in good spirits is the glue that holds the team together. He sees the extraordinary almost supernatural raw potential and wants to carefully draw it out. Because oxygen is dangerous under too much pressure.

People underestimate Mikey. They have no idea how to respond or react if he were to explode. But that explosion would be magnificent and unique, shattering and crumbling, tearing him apart and painfully putting him back together, leaving him breathless and renewed, no matter how wounded or hurt or distressed. He continues. In the hollow depths of depressive nothing, Michelangelo endures.

And so Mikey knows exactly how to handle himself, his darker emotions, his deeper primal desires. His emotional fortitude has been honed by years of painful sibling teasing and personal worries that he's not a perfect ninja. But he doesn't need to be. He's a wild card. And he is so mind-blowingly physically gifted that his body is supernatural. He can take on the world. He can support the precious lives around him easily. He is their air. He's their sunlight. With Mikey, life is all right.

* * *

Part Two: Mikey, The Heart and the Light

Michelangelo is emotionally strong but reactively fragile. He's innocent and naive like a teenager who grew up isolated and sheltered. His neurodivergent tendencies didn't help. He may be social and overly friendly, but cautious, hidden, unsure what certain basic typical expressions mean. Look what happened when he met Bradford.

Donnie may be the obvious Autistic, but Mikey's Autistic brain is subtle. He passes for what is known as average normal. He has very strong ADHD. Compared to Donnie, Mikey's autism is on a different section of the Autism Infinity Symbol. Mathematics, Reason, and Logistics fly over his head, but Creativity, Artistic skill, and Rhythm fly right alongside him. He can name every superhero in every comic universe. He can beat every video game. His Interpersonal, Musical, Spatial, and Existential skills are preturnatural. His Bodily Kinesthetic skill is its own superpower enhanced by his Olympic level athletics and acrobatics. He knows how to talk to people but he often gets it wrong. Words don't come out right. His mind tangles in on itself.

Executive functioning is diminished. When he is called for a task that interrupts his interest, he drags himself as his brain slowly switches and is compartmentalized. He is seen as lazy and uninterested. He is bored; it is out of his scope of interest unless it turns into an interest.

He tends to act immature and insensitive and careless and whiny. If he sees he is not needed he doesn't bother. He goes back to hyperfocusing on his fantasy worlds until he is needed again. As soon as he realizes he is needed, his focus is lasers. Although there are always the shiny things in the corner of his eye...

His ability to master both nunchaku and kusarigama so intensely have yet to be understood. They are two of the most difficult and dangerous weapons. They are connected to his flow. But that skill is extended simply by his mastery. He can adapt to any situation with any weapon with just enough concentration and connection. We say he is distracted and in his own head and he isn't focused. Not on the world around him, no. That world is harsh and it screams at him. The world in his head is full of light and love and beauty and heart and sometimes he is too caught up to realize the bloody reality that stalks him, perhaps until it is too late.

* * *

Part Three: Mikey, Interrupted

Imagine Mikey breaking down. His intense hardened emotional control finally slips and crumbles. He falls and collapses, curls into something small and vulnerable, shields shattered around him. A seizure happens and he melts down. Holding the weight of the sun and stars, of all the love and joy that keeps hope alive, it finally crushes him. He is supposed to be the living embodiment of joy and hope. Light personified. Happiness as an organic construct woven in his bones and his neurology. Nobody is ever meant to stay happy as a permanent trait. Mikey somehow was the one who was.

When he breaks, his cries echo across the spirit world and the universe cracks. A sliver of emptiness and nothingness penetrates. In its silent hollow form, it speeds toward his heart, his amygdala, the parts of his brain that release dopamine and serotonin. Lightning crashes, and a piece of his pure heart breaks off.

At first, Michelangelo's family believes it's a momentary break, a desperation, a brief depression. They let him rest. The depression is slow, sliding and caressing and seeping into those new cracks. Mikey is tired. He pretends. For months. He smiles and he jokes and he screws up and he gets words wrong and he aggravates his brothers and he laughs at his enemies. He is drained. Mikey is tired.

Every morning exhaustion pushes at him like mist. His muscles ache and burn, his skin hurts. He wants to cry. He doesn't remember how to cry. He puts on his fake happy mask and forces his face into a smile. He forces his voice into a state of silly whimsical joy. Mikey is tired.

Every day he cooks for his family. He is exhausted, but he dedicates all his skill because it makes them happy. He sits and eats just enough to make sure they don't worry. Everything tastes like sand. He drinks water only, because it tastes like nothing. He feels himself grow thin and he pushes his workouts harder so nobody notices. He trains and trains until he feels numb and heavy, but the hollow empty nothing has curled up inside him, pulsating and enlarging, filling him until his eyes are dry. He already hurts terribly. The strain of exercise is distant, nothing compared to the pinpricks along his skin, under his muscles, the nauseating throbbing in his head. Mikey is tired.

Every night the ache seeps in stronger. Like flames licking at his every nerve and muscle, like ice coating his synapses, bleeding through his every thought and sensation. Everything hurts and there is no end. Each patrol is blurred by fogginess. He doesn't notice when he takes a hit, he is confused when his brothers yell at him. He strikes each enemy sloppily and he misses silent cues. He becomes weak and numb, he welcomes the worst pain just to feel alive. Leo holds more ice packs to his bruises while Don tends to more cuts and abrasions.

In a new battle, Mikey takes a deep katana stab in his right side. When he collapses, he barely feels any pain, and is silent. Leo manages to look for him, Leo sees the blood, calling for a retreat, and saves his life. As he drifts in and out of consciousness, Mikey is consumed by agony but the agony is intertwined with exhaustion and nothingness, and as his brothers race him to the lair, he pushes away the pain and just breathes. Mikey is tired.

Back in the lair, Don treats the massive wound. Antiseptics. Antibiotics. Numbing sprays. Splattered blood, towels. Alcohol and ointments and cauterizing tools and blood vessels sealed shut. Stitches upon tiny stitches, needle and thread piercing muscle and tissue and flesh. Hours of slow clinical movements. Mikey lays on his left side, staring at the wall, steadily riding the waves of pain over and over. His head pounds and screams at him. Leo and Raph watch him, frowning, as they help Donnie. They expect groaning, complaining. They get blank, shuttered looks and short stuttered sighs and long calm breaths. Mikey says nothing beyond standard responses, wincing dully and tensing his muscles, but still not talking other than when asked a direct question. His voice is monotone and scratchy. Raph snarls at him, calls him words he knows by heart. His family snaps at him for not paying attention. He is quiet. He doesn't defend himself. Mikey is tired.

The surgery is over. Mikey leaves the infirmary. He rests until he is healed just enough to walk around the lair, with pain stinging demandingly. Splinter and Donatello give him pain relievers. He takes them, and when the relief wears off and the pain comes back, he ignores it. More painkillers as his brother deems necessary, which work until they fade again. Mikey doesn't ask, but Don gives the pills to him whenever Mikey looks to be in pain. Mikey smiles his fake smile and thanks his brother in a hollow voice. He is empty. He no longer feels good, or bad, or happy, or sad. Mikey is tired.

The family has all noticed. Something has been wrong, so wrong, so violently and achingly wrong. They watch their sweet Michelangelo fall into exhaustion, or jump at every sound, or clutch his head in a silent howl of pure indescribable pain. They see how he stumbles when he walks. They see how he barely eats. They listen as he cries for hours and muffles his screams in his room and in the shower. They hold meetings but no one knows how to approach Michelangelo. They are scared. They yell at each other. Each day, Mikey is curled up in his bed, or on the couch, staring at the television, pretending not to hear them. The wound in his side is itching badly and it still hurts, like fire, like ice. He welcomes this thrilling pain like a friend. He doesn't want to move too much anyway. Mikey is tired.

It's Raphael who finally does something. He finds his baby brother in his room, listlessly sorting comic books. He kneels, takes Mikey by the wrist, stands with a tug that forces Mike to stand as well. Raph's green eyes are narrow, like a predator's. But his body language is soft, filled to the brim with fear and worry and desperate desperate love. Raph says nothing, just looks into Mikey's eyes. Those baby blue eyes no longer hold light, or joy. That freckled skin is stretched and dull. The stitched wound in his side is leaking blood, black and oozing, the flesh swollen red. Raphael feels stark terror. He searches his brother's eyes for something, anything, and finds nothing. He sees it now: Mikey is tired.

Raphael drags a listless Michelangelo into Donatello's lab where April is visiting. Donnie treats the infected wound, and Mikey's skin is burning to the touch. Raphael sits and gathers a dull, glassy-eyed Mikey in his arms, his gruff voice pale and shaky. They talk. They talk for hours. Raph holds Mikey in his lap and gently rubs his arms while April wipes Mikey down with cold cloths. Mikey abruptly falls asleep. In his feverish sleep he bursts into tears. He whispers that he is sorry, so sorry, that he is a screw up, that he messes up everything, that he is a terrible brother and useless ninja. Raphael holds him tight, resting his cheek on his brother's head, his heart breaking. He knows how he is responsible for these awful feelings. He begs his little brother to let him help him. Donatello begins to cry and wraps his arms around them both. He pleads with Mikey to stay strong, to remember how deeply he is loved and how desperately he is cherished.

In Raph's arms, Mikey screams like a wounded child, writhing. The new bandage on his side leaks fluids. Raph crouches with him to the floor, where Mikey lets out a guttural cry. He has a partial seizure. It lasts five minutes. He calls out for all his brothers, begging, pleading, apologizing. They move him to the cot in the corner. Don prepares medical necessities while Raphael helplessly cradles his unconscious brother and assists where he can. Leonardo runs in, guilt like steam flowing from him; in his meditation he had felt his baby brother shatter and howling for help. He holds Mikey's hands. Mike smiles, whispers Leo's name, sighs, and goes completely limp. Leo lets his terror overwhelm him and he collapses against the bed, holding his brother and sobbing apologies.

Splinter runs in and feels for Michelangelo's spirit. It is distant, faded, worn down, burnt at the edges. The look of horror, grief, guilt and helplessness on Splinter's face causes Donatello to grab him in a crushing hug and murmur medical terms that might bring comfort, of some sort.

Mikey's fever rises and his spirit falls further away from Splinter's reach.

Michelangelo is comatose for over a week. His brain struggles to piece itself back together into some semblance of what it was. Donatello administers IV nutrients and vitamins, plus pain relief, antibiotic salve, fever reducers. Raph talks nonstop and pours out his heart. Leo reads folk tales and comic books out loud. Splinter chants mantras and weeps in despair and failure. They all participate in bathing and exercising their brother's unresponsive body.

Michelangelo goes into cardiac arrest. His brain function slips. After he is stabilized, he abruptly starts to improve, rising so quickly that Donnie becomes concerned. Leo has an idea, and hooks up Mikey's T-Pod. Mikey's brain responds powerfully. The family waits. They can sense the return of the light. That horrific feeling of scarce oxygen is lessening. Slowly, joy floods them.

Michelangelo opens his eyes to see his family openly staring, faces stained with tears. He speaks, his voice rough and sore and so very small: "Can we get more light in here? It'll help me breathe better."

He is pulled gently and carefully into warm shaking arms several times, he is cried over, his family promises that he is loved so deeply there is no end. Hugging and kissing and whispering continues until those spaces inside him are filled up and he yawns, and Mikey is tired, but this time it is a healing sleep. The brothers gather pillows and sleep next to him in a pile. At some point, Raph climbs into the bed and cuddles Mikey to him.

Mikey is kept on bed rest for another week, and never asks for more than he needs. Everyone spoils him regardless. April brings new books. Don and Leo move the medical cot to the pit so Mikey can watch TV and play video games. His stab wound heals completely.

April will help Donnie research major unipolar depression. Splinter has already written an extensive list of preparations in tea form that have been shown to boost drained neurotransmitters.

And in the following weeks and months, physical therapy, medicine, and psychological therapy gradually let Mikey slip back into the boy before the shattering. He recovers almost completely after three months. But Donnie and Splinter have stocked up on varied medicines for depression and seizures, and everyone is given firm instructions on how to help Mikey during relapses and episodes.

Mikey trains hard with Splinter, Leo, and Karai, and quickly hones his innate talent for psychic empathy, sensitivity to his environment, even clairvoyance and clairsentience. His ninja skills improve even as his ADHD still requires individualized sessions and occasional hard scolding.

He sometimes has insomnia and goes to Donnie for conversations about the softer sciences. Donnie cherishes the bizarre questions that challenge the laws of physics. He delights in searching for implausible concepts, applying Mikey's weirdness and his rationality, combining them into a working metaphysical machine. He scribbles down notes that make no sense to anyone else, but Mikey knows them.

He has nightmares and his cries draw Raph, who gets in the bed and holds him. They talk about the deep dark parts of the world and gradually become inseparable. One day Raph realizes that Mikey has chosen to communicate telepathically with him, and feels an overwhelming trust he can't describe.

He meditates with Leo, who soothes his fears of his personal darkness by providing his own path, and Leo always dances in his head when Mikey holds his hand. Mikey comes to Leo to soothe his migraines and his fears and calls Leo his spirit guide sensei. Leo swells with pride.

April and Karai become the big sisters in many ways, bringing him gifts and spending hours trying on outfits and dancing, with Karai singing beautifully, often songs about being strong, beautiful, unique, powerful, brilliant, fighters.

Mikey cooks the most magnificent meals. He flips through cookbooks, memorized recipes, then does his own thing. He takes requests. He no longer combines bizarre disgusting ingredients. Those he saves for himself. He slowly and patiently teaches his brothers. Only Don is successful as a student. This inspires Don to invite Mike to participate in his more creative experiments and inventions. They sometimes prank their older siblings and Mikey always knows the best hiding spots. Splinter knows and sees everything, and when he and his baby pass each other, they always pause for a hug. It is healing.

Mikey recovers so well that he puts away his masks deep inside. He always remembers where they are, in case a relapses happens, but he promises to tell his family if he's wearing a mask so they can help. It is a long road, but there is light to guide and love to encourage.

Everything continues to heal, time and time again, and the light still shines.

* * *

"Some catastrophic moments invite clarity, explode in split moments: You smash your hand through a windowpane and then there is blood and shattered glass stained with red all over the place; you fall out a window and break some bones and scrape some skin. Stitches and casts and bandages and antiseptic solve and salve the wounds. But depression is not a sudden disaster. It is more like a cancer: At first its tumorous mass is not even noticeable to the careful eye, and then one day - wham! - there is a huge, deadly seven-pound lump lodged in your brain or your stomach or your shoulder blade, and this thing that your own body has produced is actually trying to kill you. Depression is a lot like that: Slowly, over the years, the data will accumulate in your heart and mind, a computer program for total negativity will build into your system, making life feel more and more unbearable. But you won't even notice it coming on, thinking that it is somehow normal, something about getting older, about turning eight or turning twelve or turning fifteen, and then one day you realize that your entire life is just awful, not worth living, a horror and a black blot on the white terrain of human existence. One morning you wake up afraid you are going to live.

In my case, I was not frightened in the least bit at the thought that I might live because I was certain, quite certain, that I was already dead. The actual dying part, the withering away of my physical body, was a mere formality. My spirit, my emotional being, whatever you want to call all that inner turmoil that has nothing to do with physical existence, were long gone, dead and gone, and only a mass of the most fucking god-awful excruciating pain like a pair of boiling hot tongs clamped tight around my spine and pressing on all my nerves was left in its wake.

That's the thing I want to make clear about depression: It's got nothing at all to do with life. In the course of life, there is sadness and pain and sorrow, all of which, in their right time and season, are normal - unpleasant, but normal. Depression is an altogether different zone because it involves a complete absence: absence of affect, absence of feeling, absence of response, absence of interest. The pain you feel in the course of a major clinical depression is an attempt on nature's part (nature, after all, abhors a vacuum) to fill up the empty space. But for all intents and purposes, the deeply depressed are just the walking, waking dead.

And the scariest part is that if you ask anyone in the throes of depression how he got there, to pin down the turning point, he'll never know. There is a classic moment in The Sun Also Rises when someone asks Mike Campbell how he went bankrupt, and all he can say in response is, 'Gradually and then suddenly.' When someone asks how I love my mind, that is all I can say too"  
― Elizabeth Wurtzel, Prozac Nation

I was left to my own devices  
Many days fell away with nothing to show

And the walls kept tumbling down  
In the city that we love  
Great clouds roll over the hills  
Bringing darkness from above

But if you close your eyes,  
Does it almost feel like  
Nothing changed at all?  
And if you close your eyes,  
Does it almost feel like  
You've been here before?  
How am I gonna be an optimist about this?  
How am I gonna be an optimist about this?

We were caught up and lost in all of our vices  
In your pose as the dust settles around us

And the walls kept tumbling down  
In the city that we love  
Rain clouds roll over the hills  
Bringing darkness from above

But if you close your eyes,  
Does it almost feel like  
Nothing changed at all?  
And if you close your eyes,  
Does it almost feel like  
You've been here before?  
How am I gonna be an optimist about this?  
How am I gonna be an optimist about this?

Oh where do we begin?  
The rubble or our sins?  
Oh where do we begin?  
The rubble or our sins?"

-Bastille, "Pompeii"


End file.
